


To The End

by alltimelexi



Series: Newsies and the Supernatural [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltimelexi/pseuds/alltimelexi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When someone close to Spot starts to act weirdly, he is thrust into a world filled with all kinds of things he never once believed in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The End

Spot Conlon did not believe in things like demons, angels, or any beings that weren’t human. He was his own God; he had his own demons, and angels? Really? Spot never believed in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, why in the world would he believe in something like angels? He scoffed at the idea. He never said anything to the people who had religion in their lives (especially Racetrack, whom he knew would punch him as hard as he could for even mentioning that there was no heaven for his parents to be waiting for him in) but he couldn’t help but judge them. Only the weakest man had to believe in someone watching over them to get through their day.

So when his head bird Doll started acting funny, he didn’t chalk it up to anything supernatural. Why would he? He didn’t really have total control of the birds anyway. They worked under him, but they worked for Doll. Maybe she was just always like that and Spot never noticed… no, that was illogical. Spot knew Doll quite well, probably better than anyone else. He knew that she wasn’t normally like this.

While Doll could most certainly be cold, especially when she was doing her job, Spot had never seen her like this. When other girls started acting weird too, Spot got suspicious. What was Doll planning? When he tried to ask her, face-to-face, she just acted like nothing was going on. Spot may not have ever attended school, but he certainly wasn’t dumb. Doll had always treated her birds with respect, not like the servants she was making them out to be now.

Failing to get an answer from Doll, Spot turned to the next in line on his confidentiality scale. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, Race,” Spot admitted one night as the two boys sat on the dock, splitting a bottle of whiskey between them. “It’s starting to worry me.”

Race sat quietly for a minute, contemplating what Spot had told him. “I don’t know what to tell ya, Spot,” Race said sympathetically. “I agree she’s not acting like herself. I ran into her earlier on my way here and she didn’t say one word to me. Not even a threat,” he contemplated. Spot sighed and rubbed his temples, not saying anything else, instead choosing to take a swig of the whiskey.

After about another half hour of silence, Race stood and clapped Spot on the shoulder as a goodbye. Spot stayed by himself on the dock for a bit more, past even the point where the bottle he had been nursing was completely empty. When he finally did get up and head to the lodging house, he kept to himself, trying to decide what to do. Doll was acting differently, sure, but she hadn’t done anything outright. He heard a rumor about her hitting a younger girl who wouldn’t agree with what she was told to do, but he never found anyone to confirm the story. It wasn’t like Brooklyn didn’t gossip, and Spot was sure everyone was noting the change in Doll’s personality by now.

But it wasn’t just her anymore. Whatever had gotten into her was spreading through the other birds. He had even seen a change in one of the younger newsboys. He knew he had to put a stop to it, but without knowing what was causing it, he didn’t know how.

He fell into a fitful sleep late that night, awakening only a couple hours later. There was someone in his room. He bolted awake, immediately reaching for the dagger he kept nearby just for instances like this. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw none other than Racetrack Higgins, leaning against his wall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Spot’s guard went down. He dropped his arm with the dagger and instead focused on getting out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair groggily before asking, “What the hell are you doing here, Higgins?” 

“Now, now,” Racetrack said, his voice cheerful and a bit off, “is that anyway to be speaking to a boy who was willing to put himself on the line just to give you some answers, Spot Conlon?”

Spot raised an eyebrow at Racetrack, shaking his head. “It’s too late for your nonsense, Racetrack,” he muttered. He was slightly annoyed now, because really, who broke into someone’s private quarters just to spout words of nonsense?

“I’m not Anthony,” Race said, his voice sounding even more amused now. “Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Gabriel,” Race added, extending a hand towards Spot.

At this point, Spot was ready to throw Racetrack out. He glared at his friend, wondering if it’d be too much to physically shove Racetrack out the window (there was a reason Spot got his own quarters, he was grumpy when he was tired) when his friend spoke again. “You don’t believe me. That’s understandable,” Racetrack said, shrugging.

“Of course I don’t believe you,” Spot shot back, crossing his arms as Race’s hand was still held out to shake.

“Of course I don’t believe you,” Racetrack mocked, crossing his arms again as well. Spot was about to punch him for the childish behavior, when he realized Race’s voice sounded exactly like his own. “Why would I believe in something stupid like someone taking over my friend’s body? Oh, right, because I’m an idiot who won’t believe things even when there’s obvious proof,” Race continued in Spot’s voice. Spot just stared at him, a bit flabbergasted.

“Don’t forget,” Race said, his voice now a perfect copy of Jack Kelly’s, “that I’m also a lousy leader compared to the Manhattan boy, Francis.” Spot knew Race would never say that himself if he didn’t want a proper beating. Plus, not once had Racetrack ever referred to Jack as Francis. It represented to many bad feelings for the Manhattan boy. It represented being lied to, putting his faith blindly in something and then having that faith destroyed. 

“Who are you?” he asked, now that he was certain that the person in Race’s body was indeed not Racetrack.

“I already told you,” whoever was in Racetrack’s body said calmly, “I’m Gabriel.”

“Gabriel who?” Spot asked, racking his brain for someone, anyone he had ever met named Gabriel. “The bartender in Queens?” he asked, not being able to think of anything else.

Gabriel laughed. “The bartender from Queens,” he muttered affectionately. “I like you, this will be fun. No, I am not a bartender. Although, now that you mention it, that’d be a nice job to have,” he mused.

“Then who are you?” Spot asked again, slowly getting over the shock of having someone else in Race’s body. 

“I’m Gabriel. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I’m in a book. A popular book,” he said, raising his eyebrow at Spot again. 

Spot scowled. “I don’t read,” he said.

“You should start,” Gabriel said before waving his hand around in a dismissive manner. “I’m almost certain you’ve at least heard of one of my brother’s, but I won’t bother naming him. You were right. There is something wrong with your Johanna.”

Spot immediately snapped back to paying complete attention. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?”

Gabriel studied him, his expression suddenly serious. “Are you a holy man, Spot Conlon?” he asked instead of giving him an answer.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Spot shot back, not seeing any relation to Gabriel’s admission that something was wrong with Doll and whether or not he was a holy man.

“Answer the question, Spot Conlon,” Gabriel said instead of offering any explanation.

“No,” Spot said, frustrated, “I am not a ‘holy man!’ There is no such thing as God, Gabriel or Racetrack or whoever the hell you are.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gabriel shot back. “My name is Gabriel and I am an archangel of the Lord. You are not a holy man, Spot, so I don’t expect you to believe me. Your Johanna, or Doll as you call her, has been possessed by a demon.”

Spot stared at him blankly for a few minutes. “Go to hell,” he finally spat. He couldn’t believe he had fallen for it for that long.

“It’s not my soul,” Gabriel said seriously, “that you should be worried about.” With that, he was gone. Spot stared at the empty spot where Race or Gabriel or whoever the hell it was had been, before moving back to sit on the bed. He dropped his head into his hands. That couldn’t have happened. There was no way in hell that an archangel of the Lord had just visited Spot Conlon to informed that Doll was possessed by a demon. He must still be asleep. He must be dreaming. He pinched his arm as hard as he could but nothing changed.

Instead of going back to sleep he got dressed and went to the one person he thought might be able to help him. He got to Manhattan about the time the sun was starting to rise and he immediately went to Jack Kelly. “I need David,” he said without an explanation. Jack took one look at Spot’s stormy face and led him to the Jacob’s family home. 

Once Jack had convinced David to come out to the fire escape by knocking on his window, Spot started in on the questions. He asked David what he knew about the Bible, wondering if it changed things around because David’s family was Jewish. He asked him about any angels named Gabriel, and David confirmed that it was the name of an archangel. He asked him about demon possession, finally, and David faltered. “What’s going on, Spot?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

“Just answer the damn question, David,” Spot replied, his voice icy and his eyes narrowing.

David’s eyebrows shot up, but he complied. “From what I know,” Dave started, “and it’s not much… demon’s have the power to possess humans. They can make them do their bidding, control them, even kill them if I remember correctly.”

“And how do I stop one?” Spot asks, egging him on. 

“An exorcism?” David answered, but his voice was a little shaky. “I don’t know, Spot, I’ve never… do you think?” he started, but he didn’t answer.

“Have you seen Racetrack?” he asked Jack, who had been watching from the sidelines, a worried expression on his face.

“He was still in bed this morning when you came and got me,” Jack replied, his voice matching the seriousness of the conversation Spot and David had just had. “What’s going on Spot? You can talk to me.”  
“Not now,” Spot said, turning and climbing down the fire escape. “I need to talk to Race. I’ll see you,” he called before heading towards the lodging house once again. Luckily Race was outside, leaning against the brick wall and smoking a cigarette. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Race said, taking his hat off and running his hand through his oiled hair.

“Was that you?” he asked, hoping Race would admit that it was all a joke so Spot could kill him and move on.

“No. When I got back from the docks I started praying for an answer. Instead, I got Gabriel. He asked if I would agree to be his vessel so he could explain to you what was going on. I told him you wouldn’t believe him, but I agreed. Who am I to turn away an angel?” he asked, glancing up towards the sky. 

“There’s no such things as angels, Racetrack,” Spot said, although he was starting to think that maybe he was wrong.

Racetrack lowered his gaze and stared at Spot steadily. “I don’t know why they chose you, I don’t know why they used me to help, and I don’t know why Doll is being possessed,” he started, “but if you don’t believe in angels and demons after everything that’s happened…you really are just asking for more trouble.”

“And if I do believe?” Spot asked now. “If I do believe, do you think we can save Doll?” 

“I sure think we can try,” Race said, fixing his hat back on his head and putting out his cigarette. “We should see what we can find out first. It wouldn’t help to just barge in there and confront a demon from hell.”

“I want it dead,” Spot said softly, thinking about where the real Doll was right now and Gabriel’s warning about souls. 

Race gave him a look before shaking his head. “I don’t know if you can kill demons, Spot. They’re from hell,” he said calmly. 

Spot glared at him. “Now is not the time for you to be a smartass, Higgins,” Spot snapped before stalking away. Racetrack followed with a laugh. 

Racetrack wasn’t satisfied with the information they’d learned for two weeks. He spent every minute that he could reading the Holy Bible he had gotten from his parents while Spot asked around about what other people knew about such things. In the end they didn’t have much, just a vague knowledge that demons had to listen to the Lord and that the disciples had been able to cast out demons by basically just telling them to leave. They had that much faith in God. Spot just hoped that Racetrack’s faith would be enough.

Spot had picked up two things from talking to people: one, salt kept evil away (and he had started forcing Race to put a salt circle around his bed, as well as doing it to his own room) and two; a Devil’s Trap would keep a demon trapped. He had the man who taught him this draw the trap for him and carried it in his pocket. When Race finally gave him the go, he drew it on the floor and called Doll in. Race was leaning against the same wall he had been when Gabriel was inhabiting him, but he was nervous. Spot could tell from the way he was shaking. He had the rosary that belonged to his mother around his neck, playing with the beads and muttering something Spot could only assume was a prayed under his breath.

When Doll entered the room she stepped into the Devil’s Trap without looking down. When she realized she couldn’t move, her face shifted from calm to shock to amusement. “I’ve been found out,” the demon said. 

“Did you think I’d let someone take my head bird away from me?” Spot asked, a casual cockiness in his voice. He had gotten used to hiding his emotions from everyone a long, long time ago. This was almost too easy.

“Oh, but you already did, Spot Conlon,” the demon inside of Doll said, still amused. They wouldn’t be for long. “Using Doll I have almost your whole borough under my spell and you can’t do anything about it,” the demon said, laughing. Spot felt sick when he saw Doll’s eyes. They were pure black.

“Do it,” Spot told Racetrack averting his gaze. 

Race nodded, holding his rosary in one hand and his Bible in the other, he opened to a page and started to read aloud. “We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect. Thus cursed demon and every diabolical legion, we adjure you. Cease to deceive human creatures, and to give to them the Poison of Eternal Perdition,” here Race paused, crossing himself with his rosary before he continued, “Be humble under the Powerful Hand of God.”

Spot kept his eyes on the demon the entire time Race was speaking. When Race finished the prayer Spot watched as Doll’s body shook inside the Devil’s Trap. Finally Doll’s mouth opened and a cloud of black smoke flew out of it. Doll crumpled to the ground and Spot raced to her side. ”Doll!” he shouted, picking her limp form up off the dirty floor. 

Doll opened her eyes and stared at Spot for a minute. “Spot?” Doll asked, her voice weaker than Spot had heard it before. “It’s gone?” she asked, looking around the room. 

Spot was about to respond when Race dropped his stuff and ran to them. “You’re alive! It worked!” Race exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Spot and Doll. Doll let out a gasp and shoved Race away from them. Race stumbled but kept the grin on his face. “She’s back!” he exclaimed.

“Thank you, Racetrack,” Doll muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Spot helped her stand, smiling like an idiot when she elbowed him to get him to let go of her. He looked towards Race, who was also grinning like a fool, and then back to Doll who still looked shaken. He grew serious again. “I promise you I will never let anything else happen to you. Not just you, anyone under my leadership,” he promised. 

Doll looked up and grimaced at him. “If I even thought you two would let something like that happen to me ever again I would kill you. That was awful,” she said, turning away from him and looking down at the trap they had drawn before looking around the room and taking in the salt and Race’s Bible and rosary. “You two came prepared,” she added, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Of course,” Race said with a small laugh. “We could be demon hunters!”

Spot stared at him for a minute, taking in his words. “That’s it. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll get them back for this Doll, I swear,” Spot said.

Racetrack paled a little, the grin falling from his face. “Spot, I was kidding,” he protested.

“I didn’t say you had to help,” Spot said softly. Plans were already forming in his head.

“As if I would let you do this by yourself when you can’t even exorcise a demon,” Race muttered before looking back and forth between Spot and Doll. “So,” he questioned, his grin coming back, “where do we begin?”


End file.
